The Passion of Strange Gods
by Dan Sickles
Summary: Strange gods from below the sea threaten to overwhelm a British Colonial outpost in remote South America in 1915! Only one young woman can stop them . . . or is her destiny to become one with the throbbing darkness? This is Lovecraft-inspired but with much more sensuality and romance. Rated T for safety!
1. Chapter 1

THE PASSION OF STRANGE GODS

 _This is a Lovecraft inspired story but the mood is much more romantic and sensual than eerie. Please comment nicely!_

The drums started at sunset, an endless rhythmic throbbing that came from deep in the heart of the jungle and drifted lazily across the tranquil blue waters of the bay.

"Takes some getting used to, doesn't it?" The fat, red-faced colonial governor grinned at the pale and slender girl in the light blue satin gown. "All this is very different from that fancy finishing school in Switzerland, eh, Samantha my love?"

"Yes, it's very different." Samantha sipped the liquor in her glass, closing her eyes as the soothing warmth spread through her. Father and mother had died so suddenly, their ship torpedoed by the cruel Germans who were making war on half the world. Samantha hoped that she could make a new start here, a world away from war-torn Europe. But the drums in the jungle reminded her that there were dangers everywhere, even at the very edge of civilization.

"Come to dinner, you two." Aunt Katrina stepped onto the terrace with a worried look on her powdered, perspiring face. "Herbert, I do wish you'd do something about those drums!"

"Not to worry, my dear," the colonial governor said, smiling at the way Samantha swiftly drained the remainder of her drink. "Tomorrow my niece and I are going to visit the interior!"

"Even after all these years, I'm afraid Herbert is still a bit of an adventurer," Aunt Katrina said, stopping by Samantha's bedroom in her curlers and frilly bed gown to say goodnight.

"But is the interior really dangerous?" Samantha had been lying on her bed half-asleep, listening to the endless throbbing of the drums and feeling strangely at peace.

"Well, my dear, the natives themselves are perfectly harmless," Aunt Katrina declared, waving her plump little hand as she settled herself on the side of the enormous bed. "Herbert has taken steps to destroy all the old idols, the jungle gods that caused all their wicked behavior in the past. The problem now is that there's a new god from the sea!"

"But the drums are coming from the jungle, not the sea." Samantha objected, studying her aunt with a sleepy frown. Deep down she didn't like the idea of smashing the native idols or forcing them to abandon their ancient ways. The drums were just a harmless native custom, the girl thought. In fact their soothing, steady throbbing was rather pleasant.

"Clever girl." Aunt Katrina pushed a thick lock of golden hair away from Samantha's forehead. "Someone must have come ashore after the last big storm, stirring the natives up with stories of the gods who ruled these islands before time began. The drums are calling up strange gods from the bottom of the sea."

"Strange gods might give the natives strange ideas." Samantha was yawning before she could finish her thought.

"Precisely," the older woman chuckled. "You've got a good head on your shoulders, Samantha. Herbert and I can count on you, can't we? Tomorrow the two of you will get to the bottom of things . . . but first I suggest a good night's sleep!"


	2. The Mysterious Ruins

_Chapter Two: The Mysterious Ruins_

Reclining against the cushions in the stern of the native canoe, Samantha trailed her slim fingers in the water, using her other hand to hold the flimsy lace parasol over her head.

Her uncle had given her permission to visit the ancient ruins alone, since he was occupied with paperwork and the usual colonial affairs. However, before saying goodbye and kissing her cheek at the dock he had issued a stern warning.

"Stay in the boat at all times, my dear, don't get too much sun, and don't speak to any of the natives. Mr. O'Neill will act as guide, and if you do as he says you'll be safe enough. Just remember you're a young lady and behave yourself!"

"Yes, Uncle Herbert." Samantha didn't like being treated like a child, and she didn't understand why she couldn't have a proper native guide. Climbing a bit awkwardly into the canoe, with one hand holding up her long white skirts and the other clutching her parasol, she had offered the lean, sun-bronzed, bare-chested Irish sailor her most winsome smile.

Shane O'Neill barely managed a grunt in reply.

"The native drums are quiet this morning," the governor's niece pointed out, hoping to start a polite conversation.

"It's hot." The rudeness of the reply was almost palpable. "Natives sleep in the day. The sun is too hot."

 _It's not too hot for you, is it?_ With an effort, Samantha stifled the biting reply, reminding herself that she was a young lady. But the fierce tropical sun didn't bother her guide at all. Mr. O'Neill's broad shoulders were as tanned as his bare chest.

Just watching the way he dipped his paddle into the water with effortless grace made Samantha imagine that he could go on for hours. Her eyes were growing heavy in the hot sun, yet it was oddly pleasurable to watch the powerfully built male pilot the sleek native craft. Left and then right, left and then right, the paddle always in motion, the powerful muscles of his back and shoulders working together like a well-oiled machine. Powerful and graceful and male . . .

"Here we are."

"Huh?" Startled by the sailor's rough voice from a light sleep, Samantha sat up clutching her parasol. The canoe had crossed the bay and now they were gliding into the cool green stillness of a secluded cove, with a dense canopy of trees providing unbroken shade.

"These are the ancient ruins," O'Neill explained, pointing to some vine-covered stones with his dripping paddle. "This is where I swam ashore after the tramp freighter I was on got torpedoed and sunk by a German U-Boat."

"Oh." Samantha frowned. Her aunt and uncle had said nothing to indicate that the war had struck this close to home. Why hadn't they told her that the enigmatic O'Neill was the sole survivor of a brutal German attack? She suddenly felt very much out of her depth. It was hard to pry anything out of O'Neill, yet surely she could have done more on the trip over than gaze at his nearly naked body and dream of native drums and ancient gods. "I don't see much evidence of any ancient civilizations here," she said, feeling irritated by the oddly sensual imagery of her dreams.

"Why don't you try opening those beautiful baby blue eyes?" Harsh and sardonic, the sun-bronzed sailor's laugh made Samantha's cheeks burn red with embarrassment.

"I don't especially like your tone," she said, in a fierce whisper. It was humiliating that he'd caught her snoozing in his little native canoe. His mocking tone made her certain that he was laughing at her, not complimenting her looks. Yet when she sat up straight and peered deep into the cool gloom of the jungle, Samantha could see that the ancient stones formed a sort of pattern. And some of them had markings on them that showed evidence of high culture. There were pictures and symbols arranged in logical order.

Some of them even seemed to tell a story.


	3. Wicked Little Liar

_Chapter Three: Wicked Little Liar_

"Did you enjoy your bit of sightseeing this afternoon, my dear?" Plump little Aunt Katrina looked up from her embroidery with a welcoming smile as her tall, golden-haired niece entered the cool and shadowed confines of the library.

"It was fine." Samantha walked right over to the bookcase and frowned as she studied her uncle's scientific collection. After a brief search she found a work on ancient marine life.

"There wasn't any trouble with the natives? You didn't get too much sun?" Aunt Katrina leaned forwards on the sofa, looking a little worried as she studied her niece's fine profile. "Samantha, I can see from here your face is quite flushed. I told Herbert he should accompany you! Did the guide your uncle provided behave himself? I knew it was a mistake putting you in the care of that Irishman O'Neill. Imagine letting a common seaman escort a lady into the jungle!"

"Mr. O'Neill was a perfect gentleman, Aunt Katrina!" Samantha hadn't even realized that she had a headache until her aunt's prying questions caused her temper to snap. All at once she felt a throbbing pain start up in her temples, as though a native drum were pounding inside her head.

"Well, it would seem his company did not improve your manners," Aunt Katrina replied, with a delicate little sniff.

"I'm sorry, really I am!" Samantha knew she had done nothing wrong, yet her head was pounding and she had to fight a ridiculous impulse to fall at her aunt's feet and burst into tears. "The guide Uncle Herbert selected was very helpful. And the ruins were fascinating. But the sun was so hot we had to stop at a native village on the way back. The people were friendly and very well-behaved. But the noise and the heat and the sun were just too much for my nerves, I guess." Samantha felt like a wicked little liar, for the root cause of her distress went far deeper than delicate nerves and too much sun. But her aunt was smiling.

"There, there, my dear. I could see you were exhausted the moment you entered the room." Aunt Katrina's throaty voice was full of wisdom, and a touch of self-satisfied pride at being a woman who had survived for years in the tropics. "Off you go to your room now. A nice long soak to calm your nerves, and then you must rest until the heat of the day is past. Get some sleep, Samantha my dear. Later I'll send up a tray so you can have a light supper before you turn in early."

"Thank you, Aunt Katrina." Though she forced a wan smile, as she hurried off to her room Samantha was unable to shake either her nagging worries or her pounding headache. She still had the small leather-bound book on ancient marine life clutched tightly under her arm. She wasn't a baby, and she had seen things in the ruins that she could not explain – things that troubled her even more than the flashing smile and darkly attractive looks of Shane O'Neill.


	4. Man of Mystery

_Chapter Four: Man of Mystery_

The hour was late, and Samantha's eyes were heavy with sleep. But the image of the ancient monster jolted her awake. With its waving tentacles and all-devouring maw, the prehistoric squid resembled the mythical horror carved in stone and buried in the ancient ruins. Her uncle's textbook presented these organisms as scientific fact. But how could the primitive peoples on this remote island depict an animal extinct for hundreds of millions of years? And why did the picture-images portray both men and women sacrificed to the nameless horror from below the sea, all naked and writhing in the slimy embrace of myriad ropelike tentacles?

"Good heavens, child, what are you doing awake at this hour?" Aunt Katrina's voice jarred Samantha from her reverie just as the heavy book was slipping from her fingers.

"N-nothing! I just . . . I couldn't sleep, and so I was reading. But the book was putting me to sleep!" The girl blinked her big blue eyes, struggling to shake off sleep and sit up in bed. It seemed that the native drums were quiet tonight. The silence was soothing, and no doubt the lulling stillness accounted for her droopy eyes and rather slumberous mood.

"Yes, I see you can hardly keep your eyes open. But this sort of reading will give you nightmares." Aunt Katrina tossed the book to one side and perched on the edge of the big bed. The plump, red-faced older woman wore a worried frown. "Samantha, my sweet, there's no reason you shouldn't enjoy yourself as a guest in our little island paradise. But you must remember your status as the governor's niece. Everyone on this island must do their part to uphold British authority. Your Uncle Herbert is so preoccupied with colonial affairs that he doesn't always remember the importance of appearances."

"You mean because he let a common sailor like Shane O'Neill escort me to view the ruins in the jungle." Samantha pushed herself upright against the pillows, feeling almost imprisoned by the luxury and splendor of her surroundings. "Aunt Katrina, I told you this afternoon that Mr. O'Neill was a perfect gentleman. He's a capable guide and can handle a native canoe, but he barely spoke to me except to point out the carvings and strange statues in the ancient ruins. There's nothing about him that I find even faintly attractive, and for his own part Mr. O'Neill made it very clear that I am definitely not his type!"

"Well, that's something I suppose." Aunt Katrina's plump shoulders sagged with obvious relief. But then she gave the indignant young girl a sharp look. "You're not his type? Of all the insolence! What on earth did he say to you?"

"He didn't say anything," Samantha replied, feeling irritated and annoyingly sleepy. "When we were exploring the ruins all he did was point with his paddle and grunt every time I asked him a question. And then, at the native village, he was off doing something with the men folk the whole time I was eating with the women folk and playing with the children. It was late afternoon by the time he turned up again, and all he did was shake me awake and grunt that we had to go. The native women said we should take a rest after the noon meal," Samantha explained, finishing her story with a huge yawn. "The men don't take a rest. They go off into the deepest jungle. Hunting and fishing, but it's all mixed up with spells and rituals and stuff. Things they do to honor the gods . . . the really old gods we saw in the ruins."

"Native superstition," Aunt Katrina sniffed. "So Shane O'Neill left you alone for the entire afternoon? It sounds as if Mr. O'Neill had urgent business elsewhere!"

"Mm." Samantha sank back into the cool, soft pillows. She didn't want to talk about Shane O'Neill anymore. She didn't want to picture his flashing dark eyes or his teasing grin, or the hypnotic animal grace of the muscles in his back as he skillfully paddled a native canoe.

"Sweet dreams, my dear." Aunt Katrina was tucking her in, and Samantha felt like saying something about the strange gods and the pictures in her uncle's science book. Shane O'Neill was a man with secrets, a man of mystery. Samantha wanted to solve the mystery. She rolled over and hugged her plump pillow, sighing softly as her aunt kissed her goodnight.


	5. Tea Party Duds

_Chapter Five: Tea Party Duds_

"You need my help?" Samantha sat up and opened her eyes, peering at the Irish sailor through the fine mesh of the screen windows surrounding the cool and shady verandah. It was a hot and steamy day, and Samantha had chosen to stay at home and rest after lunch rather than accompany her aunt and uncle on the endless round of afternoon visits.

"Your Uncle Herbert has a key to the weapons locker," Shane O'Neill said shortly. "I need to hunt down a fugitive."

"You mean the wooden shack down by the governor's private dock?" Samantha frowned. "But it's padlocked, and the guns inside are strictly forbidden to the natives."

"That's why I need the key," Shane said, as though speaking to a small child. "The sooner you run up to your uncle's study and grab the keys from the safe, the sooner I can load my canoe and go back to the jungle. And the sooner you can go right back to sleep."

"I wasn't really sleeping," Samantha muttered, feeling intensely aware of the scratchy fabric of her long white dress and the constricting laces of her too-tight corset. It wasn't sensible to expect women dressed like this to remain active in the tropical heat. But when Samantha complained after lunch about her stiff, starchy clothes and the stifling heat her aunt merely smiled and suggested a rest on the verandah. The next thing she knew Shane was calling her name.

"Of course not," Shane said cheerfully. "You were just resting your eyes. But as soon as you hand over the keys I'll be out of your hair, and then you can give those baby blue eyes a little more rest. What do you say, beautiful?"

"Don't try to blarney me, Shane O'Neill," Samantha shot back, feeling more wide awake than she had in a long time. "I'm the governor's niece, not some childlike native girl you can charm with glass beads and silly compliments. You've told me nothing about why you need weapons, and given me no reason why I should go behind my uncle's back. Who is this mysterious fugitive you're hunting? And why is it up to you to hunt him down? My uncle has soldiers for that!"

"You're right," Shane admitted. "He does have soldiers. But there are things they can't fight, terrors you can't imagine. The governor trusts me to handle certain things quietly."

"Then why didn't he give you a key?" Samantha put her hands on her hips, her heart pounding with excitement. "You want keys, I want answers. Start talking, Mr. O'Neill."

"Sure, I'll tell you the story. Only you won't believe it." The dark-eyed, bare-chested Irish sailor with the roguish grin looked her up and down. Samantha felt strangely unsettled. She felt that Shane could see the raw passion beneath her cool façade, the yearning young female body beneath the starchy white clothes. "You were raised to be a lady, and that means staying out of danger, not to mention out of the hot sun. The only way to learn the truth around here is to risk everything, including your reputation."

"I'm not afraid of you, or the hot sun," Samantha flung back. "We visited the ruins together just the other day."

"That's where we're going again, if you want to learn the truth. Only this time, let's lose those fancy tea party duds and find you something sensible to wear."


	6. Growing Suspicions

_Chapter Six: Growing Suspicions_

"Don't jerk the paddle out, beautiful. Slip it sideways, and dip it in. That's the way, sweetheart. Stroke, feather, stroke. Good girl!"

"Huh!" Facing forwards in the canoe, Samantha fought the urge to turn around and give Shane O'Neill a piece of her mind. She wasn't his sweetheart! If her aunt and uncle had any idea that she had run off like this, abandoning all notions of good behavior . . .

"Take it easy, blue eyes," the Irish sailor cautioned. "If you overdo it you'll be too tired to explore the jungle with me once we reach the other side of the bay. Don't worry about being seen. None of the other pampered European females are out sailing their little toy yachts on a sweltering hot afternoon like this."

"I wasn't thinking of that!" Samantha felt slightly breathless in the hot sun. She struggled to keep her strokes smooth and even. "I just don't understand why we have to recapture this man on our own!" It was hard to believe that just a few days ago she'd been a perfect lady, wearing a long white dress and holding a parasol over her head while Shane O'Neill paddled her around the bay. Now here she was, wearing a sailor's cast-off canvas pants and faded jersey, hunting down an escaped German prisoner of war!

"Baby doll, we're doing that poor kid a big favor. If the British authorities catch him he'll spend the rest of the war in a prison camp. But if he gets too close to the underwater ruins . . ."

"There are more ruins underwater?" Samantha had already visited one set of ruins the other day, with Shane O'Neill acting as guide. Her curiosity made her forget the blazing sun overhead. "Shane, how did you capture those Germans in the first place?"

"I didn't," the Irishman replied. "Something crushed their U-boat."

"You mean they hit the rocks." Samantha didn't believe anything was massive enough to crush a U-boat. And she didn't think the cunning Germans would simply run aground in shallow water. Had someone lured them onto the rocks?

"I mean something living, something alive, crushed their sub like a tin can, with half the crew inside. The others were raiding the native village, grabbing fish and fresh fruit and . . . other stuff."

"Huh!" Samantha understood what Shane was saying. The savage Huns had been lusting after the smiling bare-breasted girls of the village. The slim, pale blonde battled a sharp and unexpectedly vivid image of Shane surrounded by voluptuous dark-skinned girls. "So I suppose you're a hero to the villagers, because you turned up just in time and stopped the raid?"

"I had help," the sailor said. Samantha sensed his casual shrug. "Me and some of the village hunters, we shot a few arrows. And we laid a few traps for the others. The guy we're chasing today is really just a kid. His name is Miller, from Hamburg. He's sixteen."

"And none of you ever told my uncle, or the authorities. And you needed me to sneak rifles to you in secret this afternoon." Samantha sensed something crooked about the whole deal. She was panting heavily by now and sweating in the tropical sun. Rugged Shane O'Neill was really giving her quite a workout!

"You got it," Shane said. "I'm bringing you in on this because I know you're a smart girl, and you want to keep your aunt and uncle safe. And whatever you see is between us."

Samantha wondered if she was going to see whatever had crushed the German U-boat. She also wondered what had brought them ashore. Had Shane been fighting the Germans, as he claimed? Or was he secretly aiding them like a traitor?


	7. Tausend Augen

_Chapter Seven: Tausend Augen_

Samantha's canteen was nearly empty, and she knew she would have to carefully conserve the few drops of water she had left. The native village was still hours away, for Shane O'Neill had insisted on avoiding the paths and taking a roundabout route through the jungle. The tough Irish sailor seemed to be searching for something far more sinister than a missing German prisoner.

"Halt a minute, lads," called a cheerful voice at the head of the trail. That was Shane, announcing a break and letting his native volunteers know that it was all right to rest for a moment on the trail. Most of the tall, slim, dark-skinned warriors seemed quite unaffected by the suffocating humidity and the sweltering heat. They laughed and joked as they clustered around their leader, the renegade Irishman who had lived among them for months.

Samantha didn't join in the jokes and laughter. Dragging her heavy horsehair canteen to her parched lips, she slumped on a boulder beside the trail, tilting her head and drinking deeply. Waves of damp golden hair fell free as her cork sun helmet slipped to the ground.

Suddenly someone was clawing at her! Haunted eyes burned into hers, while frantic hands clutched at her throat. _"Er hat tausend Augen! Er hat tausend Augen!"_ Samantha fought back with the fury of a jungle animal, frenzied and wild. Her long legs kicked out and she scratched furiously at the pale face that strangely seemed to mirror her own frantic terror. Her piercing screams soon brought the rest of the group to her defense.

"Take it easy, beautiful. Take it easy." Shane was the first one to reach her side, pulling Samantha into his arms and shielding her with his body while two of the native warriors pointed spears at the gibbering madman in the ragged German uniform.

"His eyes . . . his eyes were awful!" Samantha shuddered. She spoke German, but the words she had just heard made no sense.

"Don't worry about him, blue eyes." Shane O'Neill joked, holding Samantha tight. "You've got me to worry about."

The prisoner screamed once, and then fell silent.


	8. No Turning Back

_Chapter Eight: No Turning Back_

"Miller, the German sailor. What happened to him?" Samantha's frowning face was flushed and sheened with perspiration. She'd just fought free of Shane O'Neill's brawny arms and was standing in the middle of the trail with her hands on her hips, glaring at him. The hot sun added fuel to her frustration.

"The kid saw something," Shane roughly replied, picking up the empty canteen Samantha had dropped when the German sailor attacked her. "I told him he'd be safer staying in the village till we could transfer him to a prisoner of war camp. Now he's delirious, probably some sort of tropical fever. We'll take him back to the village. Maybe they can help him, but I doubt it." The Irish sailor shrugged his broad shoulders, like a man used to sudden death. Then he muttered a command in the guttural native language to a young boy who grinned and ran off with Samantha's canteen.

"Maybe he was delirious when he saw it . . . whatever it was." Samantha shuddered, remembering the senseless words the German had screamed while trying to choke the life out of her. A thousand eyes, he'd said. _He has a thousand eyes_.

Who had a thousand eyes?

"Here, drink this." O'Neill handed her canteen back to her. All around, the native warriors were picking up their spears and other gear, preparing to resume their long trek to the village.

"Thanks." Samantha drank deeply, wishing she could have questioned the German prisoner before he lost consciousness. The water in her canteen was much cooler than she expected, as though drawn from a deep well or an underground spring. There was also a slightly bitter taste, no doubt caused by mineral deposits in the underlying bedrock. Really it was not unpleasant.

"That's more like it," Shane said, watching her drink. "Better get that sun helmet back on as well. I can carry you if you faint, but we don't want you keeling over before we reach the village."

"I'm perfectly fine." Samantha scowled as she capped her canteen. Shane was only teasing, but the sun was very hot. Samantha saw herself fainting, falling into his arms. She raised her face to his. Their eyes met just as she adjusted her sun helmet, his big hands gently framing her slim shoulders.

"You gave me a real scare, beautiful. When you screamed, I . . ."

"Shane, I . . ." Samantha wanted to say that she trusted the Irish renegade. She was absolutely certain that whatever horror lurked in the jungle could be conquered by the two of them. But she found that the urge to kiss him was stronger than the urge to speak. Shane surely felt the same way, for his lips claimed hers just as distant drums began pounding in the village.

"Just a few miles." Shane smiled down at her. "We should be there in time for dinner. Hungry?"

Samantha nodded. "Actually, I'm starving." Her cheeks were flushed, but this time it wasn't from the heat. "Shane, whatever Miller saw, it must have been something the natives have dealt with for centuries. Can't they tell us what's going on?"

"They can't tell us," Shane informed her. "But they can show us. After the feast comes the ceremony. Come on, let's get going."

"The ceremony?" Samantha felt a thrill of fear, battling the innocent thrill of triumph after her first kiss. She really didn't know anything about Shane O'Neill, or about what awaited her at the village.

But she'd come too far, and now there was no turning back.


	9. Dream World

_Chapter Nine: Dream World_

The feasting at the village went on for hours, from sundown until nearly midnight. The dancing and singing continued long after that. But while Shane O'Neill was happy to share in the pleasures of the native celebration, Samantha's mood was one of fearful foreboding, a tingling apprehension mixed with feelings of gloom.

"We shouldn't have brought that German prisoner here," she whispered, leaning close to Shane during a lull in the festivities. "Whatever destroyed his mind must still be out there in the jungle. It could have followed us. It might prey upon the village next!"

"The village is protected by the ancient gods who dwell below the sea," Shane explained, pouring a little more wine into Samantha's cup. This was not a native drink, but rather a bottled vintage that Shane himself had somehow smuggled ashore. The rugged Irish sailor was evidently mixed up in any number of shady ventures, and the villagers were plainly sharing in his profits!

"But if the ancient gods are really prehistoric creatures that dwell in the ocean depths, how do the natives talk to them? How can they control creatures that existed millions of years before man?"

"Drums," Shane tersely replied. "Drums call them. But then it's a matter of magic. Dances tell stories of man and beast made one. Songs weave stories that are older than time."

"Huh!" Samantha's innocent features wore a troubled frown. "Drums and dancing wouldn't penetrate a sea-creature's brain."

"Why don't you watch before you make up your mind?"

Shane was teasing again, and Samantha deliberately ignored his crooked smile. He'd been her guide and companion for days now, and he'd been smiling like that when he kissed her. It was wise to forget about it. Still, nothing had ever been quite like that kiss . . .

Just then the dancing started, and Samantha tried to push the distracting memory of Shane's lips out of her mind completely. She wanted to absorb all she could of the native rituals, because she felt instinctively that they had some connection to the horror beneath the ocean waves. The horror that had driven young Miller to attack her in the jungle, his eyes filled with total madness.

The dancing was hard to follow at first, since all the villagers were wearing costumes to make them look like birds or animals or creatures that were impossible to identify. An elderly priest chanted to the beat of the drums, his voice rhythmic and hypnotic.

"Today the jungle is our home," Shane murmured, translating for Samantha while she lay beside him on soft cushions. "But long ago the land was bare, and the people were afraid and hungry."

"It's like going back in time, back to the beginning of the world." The legend was one of elemental horror, yet the chanting lulled and soothed her. Watching the dancers sway this way and that, her eyes grew quite heavy. Yet as slumber claimed her Samantha slipped easily into another world, the world of dark eons long past.

Writhing tentacles waved from below the murky water, and a long line of naked natives cowered in fear as they huddled on the beach. They were powerless to survive, ignorant of the land, of fire, of tools and reason. They longed to return to water, the home of all life. Yet they could not. For below the waves a horror beyond imagination demanded sustenance. And there was only one among them who dared to answer the monster's call.


	10. Savages After All

_Chapter Ten: Savages After All_

"Foolishness," Aunt Katrina sputtered, pacing back and forth in the stuffy book-lined study. Suddenly she stopped in front of her sleepy-eyed niece, resting her plump hands on her fat hips. "In all my years I never heard of such foolishness. A respectable English girl does not demean herself by dancing naked with savages. Samantha, my dear, what on earth were you thinking?"

"I wasn't exactly naked," Samantha objected, pushing back against her aunt's scolding while fighting to keep her eyes open. "The feast went on for hours, but it was mostly just dancing and chanting. It was really a religious ritual. Dancing is how the villagers communicate with the ancient gods from below the sea."

"Superstition," Aunt Katrina scoffed. "Samantha, it's all very well to be friendly with the natives. We must allow them a little holiday now and then. But you must not allow them to cloud your innocent young mind with childish superstition. They are savages after all."

"It wasn't superstition that destroyed the German U-Boat, my dear," Uncle Herbert objected mildly. "Shane O'Neill has taken very good care of Samantha, and the two of them have uncovered some very important information about what the Germans are up to. Of course it really was very foolish of her to stay out all night without telling us." The kindly colonial governor offered a glass of sherry to his plump and perspiring wife.

"I've never heard of such foolishness," Aunt Katrina muttered. Her scornful expression softened a little as she studied the dark gold liquid in her glass. "You know I hardly ever touch it, Herbert."

"But you do sometimes," the governor pointed out, gently coaxing. "Do try a little sherry, Katrina. That's it, just a drop or two. It will give you strength for the trip into town this afternoon."

"We will all need our strength for the afternoon." Aunt Katrina emptied her sherry glass in a single gulp. The greedy way she gulped down the expensive liqueur would have made Samantha giggle if she hadn't been struggling simply to keep her eyes open.

"What's going on this afternoon?" Samantha pictured the usual round of social visits, a cluster of sweating ladies laced into tight corsets and long dresses fanning themselves in the tropical heat. At least the natives had the sense to avoid the heat of the sun. They wore fewer clothes, and when the sun was hot they simply took a rest, lying under the trees till the day was done. Resting beneath the sheltering trees . . . asleep in the cool shade . . .

". . . and above all, we must be firm. We must show no mercy to the savage Hun! Don't you agree, Samantha my dear?"

"Huh? Firm, yes! We must be firm." Samantha dragged her eyes open, embarrassed to realize that she had dropped off to sleep while her aunt was talking. The deep leather sofa was very comfortable, and she had been up all night dancing deep in the jungle. Letting her mind become one with the ancient gods . . .

"Samantha won't let us down, my dear." Uncle Herbert was smiling at her. "Right now she's light-headed from lack of sleep, but she's just as eager as you are to see that young German sailor put up against a wall and shot for his crimes."

"But you can't do that!" Samantha sat up, suddenly wide awake. "It's not his fault, the war I mean. He's just a boy and he's gone quite mad. He saw something under the ocean . . . something horrible!" Samantha's anguished expression was genuine, but her aunt and uncle only laughed at the look of pity on her lovely face.

"Don't worry, my dear," Uncle Herbert said. "All the Huns are mad. They are savages after all. We'll be sure to shoot this one on dry land."


End file.
